


Little Light

by Mafief



Category: Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne | The Little Match Girl - Hans Christian Andersen, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Grief, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loneliness, Magical Realism, New Year's Eve, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mafief/pseuds/Mafief
Summary: Watson misses his friend and wife even more on New Year’s Eve. The desire for companionship drives Watson out of his warm rooms and into the frozen London streets.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: Watson's Woes WAdvent 2019





	Little Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover with Hans Christian Anderson's _Little Match Girl_. You can read it [here](https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheLittleMatchGirl_e.html). For those who don't know that story, be warned that there is death by hypothermia of an impoverished child. Please heed the tags if that is a trigger for you.

A strong gust whipped up the falling snow and Watson shielded his face. Watson thought longingly of not only a warm seat by the fire, but someone to share it with. He shook that thought away and concentrated on navigating the snow drifts that had accumulated against the closed shop’s doors. Another gust caught Watson before he could react, and the snow stung at small sliver of exposed skin on cheek. 

Watson inwardly cursed at the wind and at himself for his weakness that drove him to seek out companionship among his club members. Not even the good excuse of seeing a patient was to blame. No, it was loneliness. He scoffed. Loneliness. He should be used to that by now. Holmes was gone, but he had Mary at that time. Now, she was gone as well. Watson rubbed his wedding ring through his gloved hand. He caught himself and stopped. No, this New Year’s Eve he wanted to be around friends to ease his loneliness. He had even closed his practice early mistakenly thinking he would be in a celebratory mood. Even his maid was gone tonight as he had given her tonight and tomorrow off to see her family. The emptiness and creaking from a settling house had been too much to bear and increased his melancholy mood. The club offered little consultation other than a warm room and other warm bodies joyfully talking and laughing. It did little to lift his mood, and he disappointedly feigned a headache and left. 

Another gust trying to worm through clothing layers interrupted Watson from his reverie and he adjusted his scarf around his face. Desperate, he looked about for a hansom cab. The street had a few unfortunate souls walking through the snow and no hansoms in sight. Most of the shops had closed early, so any thoughts of warming up while perusing wares was discarded. The shop at the corner with the bright red door looked familiar to Watson. He brightened remembering an alternative route home that was more sheltered than this open street. He shuffled over another windswept snow pile before entering the narrow alleyway. The wind seemed slightly less here, and Watson was thankful he had remembered this route. 

He wove his way in the tight spaced between crates and wooden animal cages. He met an old woman trying in vain to sweep the snow off her steps as the snow continued to fall. He started to remember one of the adventures with Holmes that had taken him down this lane, but he immediately shut it down and focused on his route. There was no need to bring that up now. The lane opened onto another street and he saw swirls of snow spiralling down the street. Only a couple of blocks more and he’d be home. He just needed to cross this street and the next and walk through his front door to a fire. 

He was readjusting his scarf in preparation for walking through the snow swirls when he saw a small person stumble into the lane across the street and ungracefully landed. That sight was not uncommon at this time of night, so he dismissed it as a drunkard and focused on his scarf. 

The person who had fallen was a young girl. She picked herself up and sat against the bricks. She shivered and decided to light one of her matches to try to stay warm. 

Watson saw the faint glow from the match right before his world changed. All his senses were honed on a pull in his belly that intensified until he was surrounded by his former lodgings at 221B Baker Street. He gaped in shock. How did he get here? He turned and saw the lounging figure of Holmes in his worn dressing gown illuminated by the soft light. Watson’s heart lurches at the sight of Holmes. He hesitantly stepped closer to look over Holmes shoulder to see what was holding his late friend’s interest. Holmes was twisting and turning a hat in front of him before leaning back and looking back over the settee arm. Holmes smiled gently and offered up the hat for Watson to take. Watson remembered how this memory played out and reached out for the hat. Perhaps he would feel the warmth from his friend touch one last time. 

The sudden pull back to the frigid winter caused him to gasp and he fell to one knee clutching the dirty brick wall. He tried to catch his breath, but he could only manage weak gasps of air. The feeling of being smothered was too much, and he clawed at the scarf and cravat at his throat. 

His let out a choked sob at the cruelty of being snatched away. Deep, unending loss he had managed to dam up flooded back. He struggled to catch his breath as he saw the huddled figure move. Another match is struck and the same tugging sensation in his belly drew him into the warmth again. 

He found himself in the home he shared with his wife. Mary was sitting by an open window in her favourite chair focusing on her needle work. The sun caught her hair as it usually did during the morning and caused it to glow like a halo. She was stunning and the pang in his heart intensified at the loss of her and this scene he saw almost daily. He would never see her in that spot again. He sold their house; no longer able to cope being there without her and he lived above his practice now. 

Watson tried to call out to her, but no sound came. He tried to move but could not. Something must have caught her attention for she looked up and gave Watson the brightest smile she saved just for him. He felt the pull back into the cold and he tried to fight it. He screwed his eyes shut to try to concentrate on staying longer. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her. That he loved her. The pull was stronger, and he was thrust back into the frozen lane still kneeling in the snow.

He felt tears run down his cheeks and he wanted it to stop it. He refused to open his eyes and see the cold alleyway. He sucked in a staggering breath and tried to slowly exhale. Before he could organize his thoughts further, he was pulled back in. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw the sitting room in Baker Street. He frantically looked around for Holmes and found Mary sitting in his old chair. The ease at which he could move surprised him and he flung himself at Mary and held her tight. She embraced him and her warmth diffused into him. He could smell her, and how he had forgotten the subtlety of her fragrance. The loss of that small detailed pained him further. She held him tight and then released. She brought his head up to look into her eyes. She smiled and looked over his shoulder. Watson followed her line of sight and saw Holmes’ figure outlined in front of the window. Holmes was facing the window and he was playing his violin. The music was a familiar tune and one that had been his favourite. A tug on his arm drew his attention back to Mary. She gave him a loving smile and gestures with her head to Holmes. She gave his arm a squeeze before releasing him. Watson interpreted her actions as her desire for him to go to Holmes. He started to stand up and looked at her for reassurance. She smiled and nodded.

Watson got up and looked back to find Mary gone. He stared at the spot until the last slow note of the piece drew Watson’s attention back to Holmes. Watson stood to his side and watched as Holmes opened his eyes to see him. Those piercing grey eyes that some said were cold and calculating were filled with warmth and affection. Watson reaches for the bow and violin and Holmes released them into his grip. He gently placed them on a desk before quickly turning and embracing Holmes. They stood there in each other’s arms until Holmes pulled away slightly and moved his hands to gently frame Watson’s face. Watson was afraid to name the look he saw in Holmes’ grey eyes. Holmes smiled and gently pressed their foreheads together. They stood there sharing the same space and Watson could feel Holmes’ breath on his face. 

As they embraced, Watson knew this was not a memory. He wondered if it was wishful thinking from his desire to see his friend and be close to him. The affection and love he felt for Holmes were real. A small voice inside his head asked if it could be a vision. His rational brain squashed that thought because it was unlikely the dead could be raised. 

The pull back to the alleyway was gentle this time and he slowly came back to his reality of the cold alleyway wall and snow. Tears were flowing freely now, and he wiped them away with his gloved hand. Through his blurry vision, he saw movement. A moment later he realized the figure across the street had slumped forward and fell. Snapping fully back to the present and all thoughts of the vision pushed aside, Watson fought to stand and stumbled towards the figure in the show. He needed to help. 

“Please,” Watson called out. “Don’t be dead.”


End file.
